Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 217 Rose
The temperature difference between day and night in the wilderness is huge, but it's warm and cozy inside the yurt.

Brother Reid pointed at Charles: "This kid is going to collect your corpse!"

Then, pointing at the little hunter Bell, he said, "This kid will also be collecting your corpse!"

Finally, the old man stroked his beard triumphantly: "Ahem. Heaven cherishes life, and I, an old man, was afraid they would die on the way, so I specially escorted them all the way. Fortunately, I have fulfilled my mission! Since you are not dead, then you can settle my salary for the past three months."

"Give me a break!" Charles was furious. "Weren't we the ones driving the carriage? What did you do besides sleep in the carriage?"

Although Charles was angry, his eyes were smiling, and he held onto Winters' arm tightly, refusing to let go.

Winters cut to the chase: "How did you find me?"

"It's a long story. We first followed the army back to Palatour," Brother Reid said with a smile. "Once the pursuers, Hed, will retreat, they'll come to collect your body."

Winters nodded slightly.

Bell spoke softly, “We originally intended to search for corpses on the banks of the River Styx, but we happened to encounter the shaman Daj, who was comforting the spirits of the dead. Brother Reid spoke with the shaman Daj, and he then brought us to the Great Shaman.”

“The shaman leader of the various tribes is also wise, and I get along well with him,” Brother Reed said with a smile. “He told me that the Red River tribe has a champion named Paratu. When I heard that, I thought, ‘That must be you!’ So I followed him to find you.”

The little lion mentioned before that the great shaman wanted to see Winters, but he never came.

According to Brother Reid, the High Shaman is probably nearby.

"Have you seen the white lion?" Winters asked.

“I saw him. When I came here with the Great Shaman, we ran into the White Lion who was returning from the campaign against the Jurchen tribe.” Brother Reed shifted to a comfortable reclining position. “The mighty White Lion was so eager to bow down to me that he wanted to kneel down. Unlike you, kid, you were trying to compete with me. Seeing that he was quite nice, I casually gave him a few pointers.”

"What advice should I give him?"

"Don't worry about it."

Now that Brother Reed had arrived, Winters discussed with him the matter of the golden statue used for the sacrificial ceremony.

The white lion neither agreed to the deal nor refused.

Upon learning of Winters's reckless actions, the old monk's beard twisted with rage.

He scolded him angrily, "What are you thinking? What right do you have to negotiate with White Lion? If you weren't a cultivator, White Lion has plenty of ways to make you talk! If White Lion had even the slightest evil thought, do you... do you know what would happen to you?"

To avoid upsetting Winters, the little lion and Erlun were very careful not to let any "trophies" appear around him.

But Winters knew that the captured Paratians had been enslaved, and among them were likely his warriors.

Winters lowered his eyes and said softly, "I just want to feel better."

"Want to feel better? There are plenty of ways! The simplest is to be ruthless and heartless." Brother Reid glared and puffed out his beard: "What prisoners? What's it to you? As long as you don't care! You can just walk away. If you can do that, you're sure to achieve great things in the future."

Charles and the little hunter looked at the old charlatan in horror, their eyes changing.

Winters remained silent.

Brother Reid patiently persuaded him: "Don't worry about all that, just go home. Go back to Veneta, and gather strength under the protection of your elders. If the world remains unchanged, you can steadily rise through the ranks. If the world changes drastically, you can soar to the top. You can attack or defend as you please. This is the easiest and simplest path, and I've already shown you the way. What are you still hesitating for?"

Winters sat there like a stone, still not saying a word.

Brother Reid sighed, smiled, and shook his head: "Let me tell you why the White Lion neither agreed nor refused."

Winters suddenly looked up.

Brother Reid pointed in all directions: "The Great Wilderness is bordered by mountains to the south, and mountains to the north. To the west lies tundra, and beyond that, mountains again; only the east is an exit, but it's blocked by the Paratul. Tell me, what use is gold to the White Lion? What can he buy with it?"

"This is an important sacrificial vessel..."

“Sacrificial implements?” Brother Reid scoffed, saying nonchalantly, “How many soldiers are sacrificial implements worth? That great shaman, is he noble or not? But how many soldiers does he have? Does his word carry any weight? The White Lion is of the Boya clan, and according to the rules, he can't be called Khan. Even if you give him a golden statue, it won't work. To put it simply, you'd have to invite a golden statue to descend to earth and have sex with the White Lion's own mother. Can you do that?”

"But he can negotiate with the person warming the fire..."

“Negotiation?” Brother Reid’s eyes widened. “When White Lion gets the sacrificial golden statue, he will have completely lost the Fire-Bakers as an ally! The Red River Tribe and the Teldun Tribe are now both dependent on each other and wary of each other. For White Lion, the Teldun Tribe that has lost the sacrificial golden statue is the best Teldun Tribe. He can take advantage of its power without worrying about being annexed.”

"I...I don't know about these things..."

“Alas. What can you possibly know, child, confined to this tiny felt tent?” Brother Reid sighed. “What you’ve given the White Lion is a volcano that could erupt at any moment. What you’re taking away are thousands of laborers. The Palatul captives are scattered among the various tribes of Hed. Does the White Lion intend to go and exchange them with each tribe for you?”

Winters' expression darkened: "Then what do we do?"

Brother Reed countered, "Why didn't the White Lion refuse you, or simply kill you? If you died, the sacrificial golden statue would disappear forever, and that would be the end of it all."

The wood in the furnace was crackling and popping.

"Is there still a chance?" Winters' pupils dilated.

"Two tons of gold is just two tons of stone on the Great Wilderness. But in Palatour, it's two tons of hard currency." Brother Reid scoffed. "If you can bring supplies worth two tons of gold, the White Lion will gladly hand over the prisoners to you. Understand?"

“Isn’t Palatour blocking the Hed tribes?” Winters frowned. “He wants me to smuggle?”

Brother Reid didn't answer, but changed the subject: "Remember when I said that regardless of the outcome of this battle, it wouldn't affect Palatour's absolute dominance over the Hed tribes?"

Winters nodded slightly.

“Back then, I thought that although nomadic peoples often had nonsense like ‘So-and-so is invincible if they have less than 10,000 men, but if they have 10,000, they are invincible,’ as long as the settled countries stabilized their position, they could definitely beat the nomads to a pulp.” Brother Reid’s eyes narrowed into slits with laughter. “But now… things have changed.”

Winters waited for the old charlatan to utter the most important sentence.

The old monk smiled and said, "The Paratians are fighting amongst themselves!"

When the three-person team set off to collect the bodies, the coup at Zhuwangbao had just ended.

Upon returning to his camp at Twin Bridges, Alpad immediately led his troops eastward to attack the Fortress of Kings. As for who won and who lost, they had no idea.

Winters listened to Palatour's turn of events with a blank expression, seemingly unmoved.

“Father!” Charles asked the old charlatan with displeasure, “Why do you seem not at all worried about the internal strife in Palatine? On the contrary, you seem quite pleased?”

“Of course I’m not in a hurry. The soul is a guest of the body, the body is a guest of heaven and earth, and I am your guest.” Brother Reid clapped his hands and laughed, “Of course, I’d love to see more excitement.”

Charles was speechless, wanting to refute but not knowing where to begin.

"Why did they fight?" Winters asked.

Brother Reid stroked his beard and smiled: "It's quite simple. It's like a couple with very different personalities getting married. One is called the Noble Republic, and the other is called the Citizen Republic. In the early days of their marriage, they can treat each other with respect and harmony. But as time goes on, they have more and more disagreements and find it increasingly difficult to tolerate each other. Then comes endless arguments and even violence."

It was a child named "Victory" who held this family together. Now that child is dead, and both sides claim ownership of the family property. They can't reach an agreement, so they resort to violence?

"Oh, is that so?" Charles asked in surprise.

“Of course not!” Brother Reid gave Charles a sharp rap on the forehead. “Politics is never that simple. History, grudges, deep-seated conflicts, and the personalities of those involved—every single factor influences the course of politics. To simplify political struggles into something as simple as the separation of men and women is a grave mistake!”

“Just say it.” Charles covered his forehead. “Why did you hit me?”

Bell grinned foolishly beside him and also got a sharp rap on the head.

“However, the Paratul people also have some good news.” Brother Reid sighed, looking slightly saddened, “The White Lion… is a hero.”

Both Ciel and the little hunter were stunned.

White Lion is a hero, what kind of good news is that?
Winters raised his eyebrows slightly and pursed his lips.

The old monk sighed, "If the White Lion were a ruthless, kind-faced but cunning ruler, he would be far more difficult for the Parat people to deal with than he is now. Unfortunately... he is a compassionate man."

After saying this, the old monk looked at Winters with loving eyes.

Winters calmly looked back at the old monk, and the two stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

“Some people believe that those with lower moral standards are more likely to achieve great things.” The old monk suddenly clapped his hands and laughed, a rare hint of sadness in his laughter: “I don’t want to believe it’s true. How wonderful it would be if someone could prove them wrong?”

……

Although the brace has been removed, Winters still walks with a limp. He also experiences severe soreness after only a few steps; his left leg muscles need time to heal.

Charles, Bell, and the old monk then stayed at the camp until he fully recovered.

Charles spent most of his time with Winters.

Bell and the little lion quickly became friends, and the two were almost inseparable.

As for Brother Rhett?

He was always elusive, sometimes chatting with the white lion, sometimes discussing scriptures with the great shaman, and sometimes just loafing around in the camp.

The old man has a special ability: he can take good care of himself no matter where he is.

The white lion held him in exceptional respect, and the Hed people all addressed him as Dexechan [the Great Sage].

There is also a real "little white lion," which has grown to the size of a calf, and its mane has grown out.

The "little guy" still doesn't have a name—Bell remembers Winters forbidding him from naming it, so he's still called the "little guy."

The little guy still remembers Winters, and remembers the scent of the person who helped him pee.

However, when it tried to get close to Winters that night, it was slapped and sulked for several days.

The people of the Chihe tribe revered it as a deity and offered it cattle and sheep to feed it. With the little creature having no worries about food and drink, the big cat's lazy nature took over.

It spends its days eating and sleeping, and when it has nothing to do, it lies at the entrance of the yurt basking in the sun.

It's worth noting that the three brothers, including Brother Reid, relied entirely on the little guy to guard the carriage and drive away the wolves as they traversed the no-man's-land.

Back then, the little guy caught rabbits, marmots, and even antelopes on his own, and never needed anyone to feed him.

Bell had thought it would be a good opportunity to train the little guy to survive in the wild, but after arriving in the Red River Tribe, it became even lazier.

……

Winters also met the Great Shaman.

Perhaps the closer one gets, the more the sacredness and majesty crumble. After the disenchantment, through the intricate decorations and ornaments, Winters saw that the shamanic leader of the Hed tribes was merely a weathered old man.

Erlun acted as the translator, and the two had a brief conversation.

"Good fortune, Herstas," the great shaman greeted Winters kindly.

Have you seen Herstace?

"I saw it, and I didn't see it." The high shaman's words seemed to have a hidden meaning: "Since the first syllable sung by the singers, this is the first time someone from outside the grasslands has inherited the responsibility of communicating with all spirits. And you? Can you see it?"

"No, why would Herstius choose me?"

"I don't know. Our legacy is a kind of inspiration. Just like spring comes and autumn goes, it happens naturally. Or to put it another way, it's not that Herstus chose you, but that you helped Herstus."

If you hadn't appeared at that moment, the spirit carried by the name Herstas would have been lost. And you are the Chosen One, chosen by the very spirit of all things.

Winters thought for a moment and said, "If we hold that ceremony again, I will return Herstius's name to you."

“Don’t rush.” The high shaman smiled and shook his head. “If you are truly Herstius, you will know when that moment arrives. Just as Herstius chose you. If you are not, then you have nothing to worry about, and there is no point in you performing the ritual.”

The other party's logic was rigorous, and Winters remained silent for a long time.

“Your Hehar is a rare beast spirit speaker,” the high shaman suddenly asked. “I would like to borrow him for a while. Do you agree?”

“Hehar?” Winters frowned. “Bell?”

"Yes, the child whose name is [Bear]."

What do you want him to do?

“I won’t do anything. He is your Khahar, and I won’t take him away.”

"What does 'Beast Spirit Speaker' mean? Speaking to a lion?"

“Of course not.” The great shaman laughed heartily: “Can hunters talk to mastiffs? But hunters can communicate with and command mastiffs. Mastiffs are willing to do many things for hunters, not because they are afraid of hunters, but because they regard hunters as family.”

The relationship between spirit beasts and their spirit whisperers is similar. It's not about being chained or whipped, but about the spirit beast regarding its spirit whisperer as family. Spirit beasts like giant lions, once they reach adulthood, find it difficult to become close again. But when this giant lion was very young, the child named Xiong was inseparable from it. Such spirit whisperers, born of twins with giant lions, are rare even in the history of the tribes. At least, only one is recorded in the songs of the chant masters.

Winters retorted coldly, "You just want to bring the white lion to the white lion, don't you?"

"Yes, but that's not all. Let him stay here, and I will teach him and help him master the power of the Beast Spirit Speaker. He is your Hehar, and I will not force him to stay."

Winters pondered for a moment, then solemnly said to the High Shaman, “Bell is a free man; he can decide for himself whether to stay or leave. If he decides to go, I will take him with me. If you exploit him, I will come back to you.”

The high shaman nodded in greeting, and the two parted ways.

……

……

While Winters was meeting with the High Shaman, another banquet was being held in the Great Council Hall of Kingsburg.

This banquet was to proclaim victory—the victory of the Second Republic.

Winters had a peaceful two months in the wilderness, but Palatour had been experiencing one dramatic event after another.

First came the "April Coup," in which the Blue Blood faction and the Royal Castle faction attacked and killed each other in the city, leaving blood flowing through the streets.

Then came the "Siege of May," in which Alpard led all the troops he could find to launch a fierce attack on Kingsburg.

The assault quickly turned into a siege, because the fortifications of the Fortress of Kings were too strong—otherwise, why would it be called a "fortress"?

As the battle dragged on, Arpad's troops began to desert one after another.

In the end, even someone as defiant as Alpard had to admit that the siege of Kingsburg had been a complete failure.

The shield ultimately triumphed over the hammer.

Sackler held the fortress of kings with the city guard and conscripted civilian militia, while Alpad retreated to the [Jiangbei Province] with the last troops loyal to him.

Jiangbei Province is Alpad's hometown and the place where the old aristocratic forces are most deeply rooted.

Now, the Second Republic of Paratú urgently needs to tell everyone: only they can represent this country.

They declared victory through celebrations and banquets, and completely labeled Arpad's side as a traitor.

……

One cynical writer commented: "The Platonic people always live in poverty, so once they possess something, they tend to overdo it."

This is the style of the banquet hall in the Great Council:

gleaming white walls, arched ceilings, door and window slats hammered from gold…

Beneath the stained-glass ceiling, intelligence operations are underway.

Amidst the clinking of glasses, people exchanged all sorts of information.

The Paratites knew this, but did not stop it, because they were part of it as well.

There are three main types of banquet attendees:

The first category consists of members of parliament from the Second Republic of Palatine.

The congressman was easy to spot—his bright eyes, confident face, and excited chatter as he held his wine glass.

They now rule this place, and they know it.

The members of parliament each wore a red rose pinned to their collars—a stark contrast to the "blue" roses, a gesture that signaled their distancing themselves from the enemy.
The second category is military personnel.

Most of the soldiers were in uniform, standing in groups of three or five according to their affiliation, branch of service, or seniority. They coldly scanned the entire room, as if searching for some hidden danger.

The third category is diplomatic envoys.

The envoys were representatives of various external forces surrounding Plato. They were dignified, always maintaining a mechanical smile, and spoke with extreme caution.

The envoys traveled a long way to the Fortress of Kings to ascertain the outcome of the battle and gather information. Therefore, they listened more than they spoke.

Everyone had their place at the banquet, except for one figure who seemed out of place.

He wore an officer's uniform, but he didn't stay with his colleagues or talk to anyone else.

He just sat at the table, drinking one glass of wine after another in silence.

Turaño—Veneta’s top diplomatic representative in Palatour—walked up to the man, his smile almost frozen on his face: “Lieutenant Colonel Moritz, what are you doing?!”

"What are you doing? Drinking, huh?" Moritz was still as thin and handsome as ever. He poured himself a drink, one glass after another. "Isn't this the place for drinking? With the wine of the Paratists, I'm remembering a friend. Ah, they're all gone."

"I really don't understand why they put you in the spectator military officers."

Moritz suddenly laughed: "General Serbiati sent me to retrieve his son, but what happened? We couldn't even find the body. And here we are, drinking with the Paratists. Seckler won, but is this all we're going to do?"

[Note: Moritz only knows that Winters is Antonio's adopted son. Not only Moritz, but most people believe this.]
Turaño sighed: "I know about those children, and I'm very saddened by it. Of course, things won't just end like this, but you don't understand."

He sat down next to Moritz and poured himself a glass: "Sackler hasn't won everything yet, and Arpad hasn't lost everything either. The war between the Red Rose and the Blue Rose isn't over yet. We have to find a way to secure the best possible outcome for Veneta."

Lieutenant Colonel Moritz didn't say anything, tilted his head back, and downed another glass of wine.

Suddenly, a servant outside the door announced loudly, "Imperial envoy! Count Narzia has arrived!"

All eyes turned to the hall entrance.

The gilded oak doors slowly opened, and a distinguished gentleman entered the banquet hall with an attendant.

The banquet's hosts, the MPs of Palatine, greeted them warmly, and envoys from various parties also stepped forward.

Only the soldiers stood still, not moving an inch, coldly watching Count Narzia greet the crowd.

After a while, the banquet hall returned to its previous state, with members of parliament, soldiers, and envoys chatting in small groups.

Count Narcia, however, calmly approached the dazed Moritz, holding a glass of wine.

“Good evening, Count Van Nassou,” Narcia greeted him warmly. “Or should I call you Major Nassou?”

Moritz scoffed, not even glancing at the other person: "Your files need updating; you're already lieutenant colonels."

Count Narcissa was not annoyed; instead, he greeted him with even greater warmth: "Good evening, Lieutenant Colonel Nassu."

"What does the false emperor need you for? To watch the show?" Moritz asked with a sneer. "You find it amusing to see the rebels killing each other, don't you? Wasn't the false emperor the happiest person during the Paratul civil war?"

“Why do you say that? You think too badly of us.” Count Narcia swirled his wine glass gently, smiling knowingly. “His Majesty only sent me to protect his assets. After all, he is also one of Palatour’s creditors.”

……

Meanwhile, on the north bank of the Jinliu River, in a mountain valley.

Arpad stood on the precipice, his thunderous roar echoing across the plains: "They say I lost!"

"They're coming and taking everything from us!"

"Their troops are encamped just five miles away!"

"Tell me! Did I lose?"

A roar that shot straight up to the sky erupted from the mountain valley: "No!"

"Follow me!" Alpard put on his helmet and charged out of the ravine.

Thousands of "free rider cavalry" followed closely behind.

Today I'm updating with a 6000-word chapter.

There should be two more chapters of 4000 words each to finish this volume...

[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
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(End of this chapter)